


before the music takes you all away

by emion



Category: Take That (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Heartbreak, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 05:57:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8132918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emion/pseuds/emion
Summary: “They stay still, as if their feet have taken root in the ground like the trees around them. 'Perhaps we will stay like this forever, caught in an eternal state of flux, our last performance together frozen in time for no one to see', Mark thinks. 'Such a shame. We were always better with an audience.'”Or: The AU where Mark completely falls off the radar after the band’s break-up, Gary’s too occupied with his blossoming career to care for anyone, hearts are left broken and nothing is mended. Until it is.Written for Take That: Songs Fanfic Challenge; inspired by “The Circus”.





	

_Mark slams the car door and revs the engine so hard and fast he barely has time to reflect upon what he’s doing. The dark forest around him simultaneously swallows and echoes the sound of the tires hitting the gravel as he drives away, away from the cottage, away from his heart and dreams and everything he thought he wanted-needed-waited for._

_Away from his heart. Away from Gary fucking Barlow._

***

The years of silence between the boys are harsh, deafening, heart breaking, and for every agent’s failed try at getting them back together, Mark feels himself slipping further and further away. Years of claiming himself at the center of a stage, years of flitting between hotel rooms, bars, venues, cities, countries and continents has left him dazed.

He’s been spinning too fast for too long, and now that the circus has stopped, his feet has lost touch with the ground and he’s falling - a failed acrobat without a safety net.

At night, he toss and turn, listening to the whispers of his heart, beating rhythms to songs he knows he’ll never be able to bring to life.

At day, his guitar provides comfort, a steady point in a house too big (too small, too empty, too full). He writes, writes, writes, tries so hard, but all the words come out the same and it doesn’t seem like he can say anything without screaming, so he keeps quiet instead. Wishing that time could be re-written, that he’d had more time.

The clock in the living room keeps ticking too loud, and Mark constantly finds himself counting the spaces between the seconds, anything to keep his mind from getting lost in the present, past, future. In the promises of empty bottles and the soothing smoke of stale cigarettes.

It rarely works.

He knows it could be easy. He knows that it could be so, so easy, to get a hold of _him_. To get closure. Perhaps even a solution. But Mark’s a stubborn soul, won’t break. So many pieces of his heart has already been left in the chords of songs they’ve sung, and he tells himself he’s better like this. Better off. Better alone. No one close enough to break him again.

 _I’m the only one who can break me this time around,_ the repeats to himself as another line gets thrown in the bin. Sad bits of crumpled paper are all that is left of the past. And yet, he can’t let it go, his face keeps popping up, solo records, singles, TV performances. He’s sick of it all.

Sick of the smiling, the smugness, sick of the knowledge that this, having a name for himself, is more important than the words he refused to say when it mattered. Mark feels cheated, and the worst part is that his lover’s lover is his ego, his desire to see his name plastered on cheap paper on dingy city walls, begging people to spend time, money, _love_ on seeing him face to face.

Yet, Mark knows he’s single, alone, lonely. He knows that despite all that time and all that money, he doesn’t love.

 _I would have spent it all on you,_ Mark thinks. _I would have given up everything. Maybe I have. Maybe I want you back. Maybe I never want to see your face again._

He crumples the paper.

He talks to Robbie, at times. Emails, mainly. Mark’s phone usually lay unused on his kitchen table, a silent and childish protest against the outer world which has continuously worked against him. He’s made his own world in the house, set up camp and watched the enemy lines destroy themselves from inside the safety of his fortress.

He’s deserted this war. Robbie had deserted with him, two souls with a kinship that can only be forged through fire and blood. Kept himself locked out, locked in. _Perhaps not a fortress, a self-made prison_ , Mark thinks to himself. Robbie understands. He’s a prisoner too, after all.

 _Rob, I dreamt again_ , Mark writes one day. _I was on a stage and everyone looked at me. And then they laughed and I smiled and smiled and I took it. I took my bow and performed my best. But I was no good, no good at all. And then_ Gary _was there and… He sat in the audience, with his arms crossed. Looked at me like I was a disappointment. Perhaps I am. Perhaps I always was. I kept smiling._

_I still miss him._

_Fuck._

***

Mark finds the cottage through an old colleague. His house smothers him with its vastness, with its openness. He needs containment, so his thoughts can’t grow too big, so his heartbeat won’t echo through the corridors - a forgotten drumbeat in a melody that should never have been written.

He leaves in a hurry, packing only the essentials, promised that the cottage will be fully furnished and the fridge stocked with food. Mark couldn’t care less, he just needs out _out_ **_out_ **. He leaves his phone where it’s taken up residence on the kitchen table. For the last month, there’s only ever one number calling it anyway.

Mark can’t fathom why Gary would want to talk to him now, after all this time, after all the wounds he made Mark lick in the aftermath. Why he thought he’d answer at all. Mark wants to throw the phone. Mark wants to throw himself at the phone. Mark wants wants wants. Mark doesn’t know what he wants.

He sends Robbie an email before he pulls the plug on his computer.

_I’m sorry. I need to go._

He doesn’t look back when he drives his jeep out from the driveway.

***

Three weeks later, Gary Barlow is standing at his door.

“You’re a right tosser, you are”, he says with a slight smile that quickly transforms into a frown. To Mark, it just looks like he’s grimacing. He’s wearing a god-awful brown hoodie, black jeans and a pair of white trainers.

Mark says nothing.

“I’ve been, um, calling, but you never pick up”, Gary says slowly. Like Mark is a child. Like Mark can’t understand what he’s saying.

Mark says nothing.

He can’t get his mind to work properly, like someone has shoved his head into a box of cotton, sealed it, stuck a sticker saying “fragile content” on it and carried it away for storage. Mark blinks slowly, and Gary cocks his head.

“Are you alright?” he asks. Mark laughs. It’s short and harsh, like nails on blackboard, and Gary’s eyes widen in shock.

“What the fuck, Gary?” Mark hisses. The forest surrounding the cottage fills the silence between the two. The leaves rustle gently in the breeze, and Mark closes his eyes, wishing he could just break apart to the seams right there and then, floating away in the wind piece by piece. He inhales, and the murky smell of earth makes him feel grounded again, even though he’s still thinking about scattering himself in the wind.

He can hear Gary breathing heavily, and when Mark opens his eyes again, he dares himself to look him straight in the eye. He unravels at the sight of a tear falling openly on Gary’s cheek.

They stay still, as if their feet have taken root in the ground like the trees around them.

 _Perhaps we will stay like this forever, caught in an eternal state of flux, our last performance together frozen in time for no one to see_ , Mark thinks. _Such a shame. We were always better with an audience._

Then Gary’s hands are touching his shoulders, bringing him closer, arms folding around him, embracing him, and Mark stops thinking altogether.

***

“We split. We split and I didn’t go after you. I was too caught up in my own crappy career to understand that I had actually lost you and…” Gary chokes on his words. Instead, he takes a sip of the too-hot tea before glancing at Mark sitting on the other end of the sofa. He’s stirring his tea slowly and intently. His long fringe has fallen down from where it was tucked behind his ear earlier, and is now covering the soft features of his face. He’s staring into space.

“D’you know, this is actually Rob’s doing. Don’t know if I’m more impressed that he managed to find out where you’ve been hiding or that he actually talked to _me._ ”

Mark stops breathing. Out of all the people to betray him, it had to be Robbie. His Robbie. His fellow inmate in this prison called “life post-Take That”. The disappointment shoots through him like fire in his bones.

“What? Why would…“ he stammers, disbelief soaking through his words. Gary sighs, and Mark remembers how he learnt to hate that sound.

“He worries about you. We all do. We love you. _I_ love you.”

“That’s a load of shit.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Oh, but I am.” Mark stands up, tea sloshing dangerously close to the rim of his cup. He puts it down on the coffee table, hard, and the sound shoots like a gun through the silence.

He’s waited years to hear those words from Gary again, but now he’s got them, he doesn’t know what to do with them.

He feels hollow and bursting with energy all the same. The armour he’s spent years carefully building up and repairing when needed is rusting away at the edges, and all of a sudden, Mark is not sure he has the skills to make it like new again.

Gary has always been an expert in taking him apart. In saying the right words, in kissing the right spots, in whispering the right kind of love in his ear while the bed creaks beneath them. In ruining him, in untying the knots that keep him together.

“You love me? That’s a fucking joke Gaz, and you know it.” A bitter laugh escapes him. “Why are you here? Why are you really here? To say you’re sorry? To apologise for throwing me away when the band broke up? Y’know, I thought you’d at least have the decency to actually break up with me, but I guess it’s a “take two pay for one”-deal where I was lumped together with Take-bloody-That.” His voice is low, steady, calm - everything he doesn’t feel.

“Mark, you left, and I thought-“

“We all left! Me, How, Jay - we all left that life behind, but apparently I had the audacity to think that what you and I had was actually real outside of the band.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not sure you get to say that.”

“Fuck that, Mark! Don’t you think I know? Don’t you think I know what a twat I’ve been? I was selfish like hell back then, but I’m not that guy anymore. I’m not, and you know it. I know I was too far up my own arse to see what was happening to the people I love. I know I did wrong. I know.”

Gary sniffles as he takes a sip of his tea. Mark stays silent as he watches Gary swallow the drink. The evening sun is softly drifting through the windows, illuminating the dust silently floating in the spaces between, as if the laws of nature doesn’t apply to his sanctuary. Gary puts the mug down and rubs his hands over his face before standing up.

Rationally, Mark knows Gary’s not that much taller than him, but he can’t help but to feel like he’s looming over him as he approaches. The closer he gets, the smaller Mark becomes. He starts to wonder if he’s going to disappear altogether as Gary moves towards him. Mark shuts his eyes.

“But here’s the thing, Mark”, Gary says soothingly as he stops before him, so close Mark can smell his familiar aftershave. Apparently some things haven’t changed. “You can’t shut yourself out like this.” Gary reaches out gently, and puts his hand on Mark’s cheek. Mark knows it’s not smooth, stubble and age marring the boyish features Gary once knew like the back of his hand.

His hand moves to Mark’s neck, caressing the curls in the nape of his neck. Mark curses himself as he leans into the touch, into Gary.

“No matter what hurt I caused you, it’s just not worth it. You’re wasting away here, and I’m not gonna let you do that, okay? Rob’s worried too, you leaving like that and going into complete radio silence. It’s not healthy, Marko. And I think you know that too. I miss you. I’ve been missing you for so long that I’ve forgotten what it’s like not to. I don’t want that anymore.”

Gary leans forward, until their foreheads touch. The sensation is electric, and Mark feels like the dust floating in the sunlight, like he can’t tell up from down or if he’s still standing. He can feel Gary’s breath on his lips, and _fuck,_ he wants to, but the past years bitterness festers in his mind and Mark just can’t breathe on his own anymore.

“I- I can’t do this right now.”

***

Mark slams the car door and revs the engine so hard and fast he barely has time to reflect upon what he’s doing. The forest around him simultaneously swallows and echoes the sound of the tires hitting the gravel as he drives away, away from the cottage, away from his heart and dreams and everything he thought he wanted.

After fifteen minutes on the road, he stops by a gate leading into a meadow and gets out of the car. Mark can see three horses standing half asleep in there, the soft breeze of the chilly September air gently ruffling their manes.

Patting down his tattered jeans, he realises that he doesn’t have any cigarettes with him. His fingers are itching for something, and Mark bends down to break off a piece of a grass straw that is growing close to the fence. He inspects it to make sure it’s not too dirty before putting it in his mouth, simulating the act of smoking.

He takes a seat on the passenger side, door open and his gaze flitting over the surroundings, trying to find a stable spot to rest his eyes on. His legs are dangling outside of the jeep as he sits on the side of the seat, his worn and untied boots almost falling off his feet. He forgot to put socks on this morning.

It’s quiet, but Mark’s head is roaring with thoughts, bouncing back and forth, as if they could break the shell of his skull and escape into the evening sky.

 _Gary fucking Barlow_ is the thought that keeps returning, together with the smell of his skin and the feel of his breath on his lips, the touch of a ghost he thought he’d exorcised. Inviting him, reminding him of the sins they’ve committed and the demons they both have battled.

His heart is racing with anger and frustration, but he can’t tell whom it’s directed towards. Because, the thing is, Mark understands and Mark knows - seeing Gary on his doorstep, the last person he thought he’d ever want to lay eyes on again … He wants it. He wants _him_. And he can have it. He just needs to forgive. But it’s not just Gary who needs his absolution – he needs to give it to himself too.

 _Shit._ The thought is daunting, like stepping out on a stage not knowing the set-list and wearing a blindfold. Mark chuckles to himself and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. _Wouldn’t that be something._

Chewing lightly on the straw in his mouth, Mark hears the car approaching before he sees its headlights. The dusk has started to settle around the landscape, and with it the comfortable chill of the September evening.

The car slows down violently as its driver spots Mark. He stays where he is, waiting for Gary to once again come to him. He’s out of breath when he exits the car in a hurry, almost running over to where Mark is sitting, short legs dangling a good few inches from the ground.

When Gary stops, it’s a mere hair's breadth from Mark’s face, and their eyes are on level ground with each other. Mark fixes his gaze on the worn road below, his heart fluttering dangerously as he sees Gary’s trainers next to him.

“I’m sorry I’m so late, telling you I mean. I don’t know why I waited, and then you were gone and-“

“It’s okay, Gaz…”

“No, it’s really not.” They are breathing hard, laboured, as if the emotions that are caught between the small distance between them are physically choking them. Gary opens his mouth to say something, but Mark interrupts him before he gets the chance.

“Hey, you’ve done so much talking, I feel like I got something to say too. It’s not all on you. We both made mistakes. I think… I think I wanted to confront you, back then. But I was too scared, you were so caught up in music, in your career.

And Gaz, you’re so fucking brilliant, and you love it so much, I just didn’t want to … I don’t know. I left it too late too. I’ve just been _so_ scared …” Mark looks down again, and starts fidgeting with his hands, wishing harder than ever that he’d have a smoke to calm his fraying nerves.

He senses Gary is moving, his hand slowly reaching for his face. When his long, soft fingers touch his chin, Mark closes his eyes, revelling in the touch.

“I know it’s gonna be hard, that it’s not gonna magically fix itself, but I really wanna try, Mark. I really, really do. I’ve realised that now, and I’m sorry I didn’t sooner.”

Mark is the one who closes the gap between them, catching Gary’s cold lips with his own. At once, Gary’s hands find their way to Mark’s head, grabbing gently and stepping into his private space.

Mark squirms to make room for Gary to stand between his legs where he’s sitting, letting himself feel the pure heat radiating from Gary in the cold.

Their kiss is full of memories, old ones and ones that are yet to be made and remembered. It’s a silent testament to the time they’ve spent apart, and the times they will spend together. Mark smiles into the kiss as Gary pushes closer, closer, as close as he can get.

Suddenly, his hands have moved from Mark’s face to his bum, and with a groan Gary lifts the smaller body into his arms. Mark yelps in surprise, and clings to Gary as he hoists him up.

Mark hooks his legs behind Gary’s back as he bends down to _kiss kiss kiss_ those lips that he so often dreamt about, thought about. It’s wet, sloppy, and Gary’s tongue feels like velvet against his own. A song he’d forgotten the words to come back in full force, demanding itself to be sung, to have new lines and rhymes and melodies added to it.

They both smile.

***

“It was a fucking circus show, the aftermath”, Gary says.

Mark huffs, his breath forming a small cloud into the darkness. They are sitting on the hood of Gary’s car, watching the last rays of the sun caress the landscape before them.

“Yeah, it really was quite some show.”

They have talked - a bit - kissed more, and come to an agreement of sorts. To try again, to refuse their past choices being their last mistakes. To be anew. To be together.

Gary’s hand feels large and safe and _home_ where it rests on Mark’s thigh. An involuntary shiver travels through his body as the sun finally sets beyond the autumn-clad valley. Gary instantly moves closer.

“Hey, come here, you look like you’re turning into ice. Your nose is bright red.” Mark chuckles, but turns to Gary’s warmth nonetheless. It feels simultaneously easy and like the biggest challenge he’s ever faced, but he wants it. So bad.

He’s still scared. Still wants to run away from it all to the comfort of his old ways, to the solitude he’s become one with. But Gary is holding him close now, arms around him, shielding him from himself.

Perhaps he doesn’t have to repair his armour again. Perhaps his broken walls doesn’t need rebuilding.

Perhaps this – Gary’s arms around him – is the only thing he needs to feel safe, and whole, again.

Mark sniffles and reaches to rub his nose. It really is frozen, and he can only imagine the shade of red it must have taken. He glances at Gary, who is looking at him intently.

“If you start singing about Rudolph you’re sleeping on the sofa”, he says, squinting accusingly. Gary just chuckles, the laughter rumbling low and soft in the quiet night. It gives Mark a warm feeling in his heart, like it’s swelling unproportionally.

“Nah, I was thinking you look more like a cute lil’ clown”, Gary remarks and bops his nose with his index finger. Mark scrunches up his face in pretense offense before letting out a small laughter, shaking his head.

“Shut up, Barlow”, he says as he burrows himself deeper into Gary’s arms, glancing at the night sky appearing before them. Mark want’s to imagine he can see the whole of the Milky Way, the stars balancing on the edges of galaxies and orbits, performing a dance of their own with the universe as their audience.

He smiles. _The world really is a stage,_ he thinks to himself, _and maybe it’s time to enter it again._ Gary’s steady breathing becomes a fixed point in time and space as Mark loses himself in the night sky. He feels safe.

_Yes. Definitely time._

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the drabble that became a beast. Thank you to the TT Songs Fanfic Challenge for getting my inspiration flowing, and to karmaplus @ tumblr for cheerleading and beta-reading. This is my first time publishing a TT fic, but it certainly (and hopefully) won't be the last.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.


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